What is the spring like in Minas Tirith? I have seen her gardens only in winter, and had difficulty picturing those stone-walled spaces full of light and leaf and color. . .

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First appear the tentative green blades of the crocus-leaves, then saffron and lavender blooms lie scattered like jewels on the snowy ground. As the days lengthen, checkered-lilies and columbines lift their heads in anticipation, until, finally, the riotous trumpeting of the daffodils – spring has returned!

Branch gives way to blossom; blossom gives way to leaf. Every patch of green is alive with chattering, chirruping, feathered souls; goldfinch, nightingale, linnet. How can their tiny bodies sustain such ceaseless, joyous music?

I pray you, lady, return soon to my city: the music that delights me most is the sound of your voice.